


platelets

by hectorpriamides



Series: bloodbank [3]
Category: The Kane Chronicles - Rick Riordan
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, h & c also talk about c's immortality, horus and carter talk about having a baby, ooc – kind of, sadie has a baby, walt/anubis are mentioned in the background as are the kane parents.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 08:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectorpriamides/pseuds/hectorpriamides
Summary: a few years after 'bloodbank'. sadie is pregnant, and it stirs a new idea in the horus and carter kane relationshippre-established relationship, by the way.





	platelets

**Author's Note:**

> it's here. bloodbank 2.5 (clotting) and bloodbank 3 (some blood pun) coming soon

i. 

  
Sadie has the dog's seed _something_ like a few decades later. Mortal time is too flexible for his taste. Carter takes him when they pick Sadie up from a nome, silly girl coming in the early morning. She crawls in the back, kicking his reclined seat, as the sun climbs over the horizon.

The god ignores her, fiddling with the temperature controls while his Kane kids chat. Perfume and detergent makes the air sweet, gross domestic life too comfortable. Now that he has Carter, officially, he's less concern with actual mortal affairs. They won't matter once Carter's immortal. (his wonderful consort reaches over his lap, hazel eyes shimmering up at him, and horus gives in, adjusting the seat.)

Carter is better at figuring out when he's in a mood than he cares to admit. He listens to the Kanes prattle. They missed each other. How cute.  
“I want breakfast,” she whines. Little Kane isn’t a whiner, so he twists in his seat to look at her. She’s glowing. Horus narrows his gaze. That’s. Odd. Magic doesn’t work like that. Her scent is different too, one he should know, scratching at his mind. He should know this, everything tells him. He’s seen these signs before. He’s gone soft with the times.

Carter humors her, glancing at her equally fond. “And where do you want to go?” he asks, equally soft. Horus does like the Baby Kane, so for once he can understand the tenderness.

She lounges across the seat, no seatbelt, no regard for any safety regulation Carter carefully drilled in his mind. “Anywhere. This Nome can’t cook for shit. Something greasy. I’m craving it.” Cravings. Glow. He should know this. His wife has gone through this. The drive is more bantering between the Kane children, spitting back and forth.

His mortal lets him play on his phone, despite having bought the god his own. _Something’s you’re difficult to contact. Maybe I want to hear your natural voice. Amuse me, Horus_. His phone is regulated to games, the coveted solitaire, and three contacts (mother, son, daughter Kane). Like his mind softens with peace, his attention wanes.

Carter finds a restaurant not too much later. It isn’t busy for the early hour, only one other car in the lot. Sadie digs around for her wallet, and Carter steals a couple kisses across the console.

(the mortal king has grown so much over the years; the god king’s heart swells.)

They’re seated not ten minutes later. Sadie slouches in her seat, and Carter’s tired mess of curls rests on his shoulder. The children have been on routine schedules recently, as normal as magician time can be. Only a week from home at any time, and demons have been on the decline.

Carter orders breakfast, he orders breakfast, and Sadie orders dinner, a greasy mess of meat and potatoes. “Hungry?” Horus asks.

Horus wants to still be in bed, wrapped around his little prince. Their bed was warm, sheets orange. Their bed didn’t have Sadie Kane in it, love her he may. Carter brings his coffee cup to his lips. The boy is unfairly attractive, beautiful in no way a goddess has been. One day he will understand his attraction to Carter.

“A bit,” she admits. She eats heartily, straw of her root beer loose between her lips. Horus hears her foot tapping beneath them.

Kissing Carter’s temple, he offers him some of his breakfast, those fluffy pieces of flour, the...pancakes. He just ordered them. His recall should be better. “Are you alright?” Carter asks. The girl across from them tugs on her sleeve. Magic rolls unbridled from her.

The glow.

“You’re going to be uncles,” Sadie Kane says. He hears the distinct shatter of glass, looking at Carter beside him clutching the remains of his cup cradled in his hands, halfway to his face. Horus focuses on that instead of the news before him, taking care of Carter. He gently pries the broken pieces from his hands and off his lap, setting them on the table. Knowing that Carter is wearing an undershirt, he unbuttons it, the shell shocked prince letting him get away with it, wiping his chest and lap off. “I’m pregnant.”

Horus wraps Carter in his jacket. “You’re pregnant,” he says, “you’re–“ he slaps Horus to let him out, who reluctantly agrees. He watches Carter hug his sister. Cute.

“How?” Horus asks.

Sadie clamps her hands over Carter’s ears, drawing him into her shoulder, shit eating grin plastered on her face. “I know its been awhile, but when a man and woman have sex-” Carter whines; it goes straight through him. “-the woman has a chance of getting pregnant. I know your efforts with Carter have been fruitless-”

“That’s enough, Little Kane.” Grabbing Carter by the back of his pants, he pulls him back around the table and onto his knee. The boy cups his cheeks, looking between the two of them, an ecstatic _She’s pregnant, birdie._ _I’m going to be an uncle!_

He feeds Carter a piece of egg to shut him up. Sadie rests her head on her hand. “I want you two to be his godparents, no pun intended. Who knows how Walt and I have,” she says, in what Horus hopes is a jest.

Regretfully, Carter sits proper in the booth. “It’s a boy?” he asks. Baby Kane having a baby. The world is going faster. Death comes for all mortals, which is one thing he managed to steal from Carter. But the boy is broiling now at the mention of a baby. “He’ll be the godparent,” Carter says with a jab at his ribs. “I’ll be the uncle.”

“Original, princeling.” he says dryly. “Is that all?”

The rest of breakfast is quiet.

(when the mortal king—only temporary, he reminds himself—finally gets to go home, the god king is graced with probably the deepest kiss of their relationship; mortal king wraps his fist in his shirt, tugging him down and promptly, unexpectedly, kissing him. an uncle, he sighed. even the god king’s face was flushed after the kiss, mortal king cast in the slowly rising sun, something new churning in him.)

ii.

“What do you think about this?” Carter asks, holding up an impossibly small shirt that match the rest in the basket Horus is holding.

  
Horus shrugs. “Whatever you please, baby. I don’t care.” He’s spending plenty of money on a kid he’s not going to like, all because Carter twists his arm with the tried and tested, _You’ll like him because he’s a Kane. Name a Kane you don’t like_.

(A fight during an hour Carter should be asleep. “I don’t care if you want nothing to do with this. I’ll buy my nephew stuff without you.” Which isn’t their agreement; Carter wants, he gets. Horus, keeping his temper down, fished his wallet out, flipping through the bills, the larger ones Carter isn’t a particular fan of, green honestly disgusting money passed to his hands. Some exuberant amount, probably, not bothering with counting. Except the brat won’t take it, a game of cat-and-mouse (falcon-and-mouse) around the kitchen.

“No. You want nothing to do with him. Keep your stupid money,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Part of Horus wants to pin him down and remind him that good princelings don’t fight their king, and the other part wants to commemorate him for standing up for himself. The former wins, cheating briefly and zipping over, trapping him against the cabinets.

His head hits the wood with a thud. Horus is concerned if only for a moment, before remembering he’s technically mad at him. “Take the money. I’m your god-husband. I provide for you.” His jeans are snug, Horus’s hand doesn’t go smoothly in, but the money rests flat on his thigh. “I may not like the child but if you do, that’s enough.”)

(carter went to bed on the couch, curled in an adorable ball, scrunched little nose. he fought vaguely when horus scooped him up, grumbling a ‘hate you,’ nuzzling his shoulder. “don’t wanna sleep wi’ you tonight,” he said, “mad at you.”

he sighed. “i know. i’ll sleep on the couch, princeling.” but carter wouldn’t let him leave once they’re in their room, wrapping his arms snugly around his neck.

he pulled horus down halfway, god’s face pressed into his neck, bent over, knee close to his hip. “want me to stay?” he asked.  
“i’m mad at you–overpowering me like that. i can’t, i can’t live on your purse forever.”

“but you can. i want you to.”)

He pouts. “Would you be more interested if it was our kid?” He puts the small shirt in the basket anyway, tugging him along by the elbow. Adorable and young as ever in his sixties, magic and a god keeping him not a day over twenty-three. Horus could eat him up just about anywhere.

“We can’t have children, baby.” All the talk of babies between all their parents has Carter messed up. Never has Carter mentioned kids before Sadie got knocked up. “You know that, correct? Parts don’t match up,” like that horrible nightstand they bought the one time.

He glares at him. “Yes, I know that. I’m not stupid.” Carter flicks through the rack of clothes. Why a baby needs clothes baffles Horus. It may be colder here, how aware he is of the cold, but babies are messy and are barely in their clothes. “Just hypothesize with me. You never said no to having a baby.”

“And I never told you yes.” Horus adjusts the basket to his other hand. It isn’t heavy by any meaning of the word but the plastic is cheap and digs into his hands. Pants find their way in the basket, as if his princeling is trying to supply the baby (Allen?) the whole wardrobe.

Carter drifts over to the girls section, holding up a small (it’s all small) yellow onesie, covering half his face. “Come on. Appease me. We could give your mother a granddaughter.” The onesie finds its way into the basket too, only to be promptly removed by the god. “Horus.” His face is exasperated, adorable brow furrowed.

He grabs Carter’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Mother has a granddaughter. Anubis has children too. I’m not a father. You’re not a father. Drop it.” Horus still adores his wife – but not in the way a husband should love a wife. That’s all transferred over to Carter. But speaking of children drudges up Hathor, his old life for a younger man. Carter’s commented how unhealthy it is to disregard her emotionally, because you’ve been married for how long?, but whatever. He’s moved on. Horus can barely envision a future for himself — times have changed too much, he too old and outdated – but the future, vague it may be, only features Carter, not Hathor.

His original forever had Hathor in it. But his original forever had Kemet in it too.

“But you are a father. You have children. Five of them. I have nothing.” Horus pauses at the defeated tone. Not befitting of his little prince. Carter’s shoulders slump. “Whatever. Won’t even entertain me,” he grumbles. He pries the basket out of Horus’s fingers, refusing to meet his gaze.

  
Horus hates when he gets like this. Carter can get everything when he isn’t acting this petulant, and Horus wants it to stop, and the best way to get it to stop is to give in. He follows Carter to the counter, glancing down at the top of his head while Carter makes polite small talk. So good at it, talking about nothing.

Horus, older, unfortunately, knows he isn’t who his younger self was. Not constantly angry, not wrapped up in revenge, the cycle of rebirth broken, in a sense. No throne. No Kemet. Only Carter and a few Nomes. He doesn’t even hunt anymore. Modern times are slow, and his mind has followed suit.

Only Carter, and a few Nomes. What little he’s had before, he’s maintained. Except Egypt.

But Carter. He has to keep this one. He made this one immortal, physically, not just in memories. Abandoning Carter can’t happen.

He’s responsible for this. And what’s another one to add on, in the form of a baby?

  
The air outside is brisk. Always brisk in this forsaken nation. “Look, Carter.” He takes the bags from him, thank you very much. His responsibility for now.

Forever. “I may have sons. You’re right, of course you are. But I didn’t raise them. Their mother and governesses did. I couldn’t tell you Imsety’s birthday, or Duamutef’s full name. I’m disconnected from the whole thing.” Still won’t look at him. Horus sighs, and in the face of the poor weather, drops his arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “What’s got you hooked on the baby-talk?”

  
Carter deflates even further. “I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger,” or older, “and I don’t have anything to show for the past few years. And, well, it’s you. We’re together for how long now? Not having kids during this indefinite span doesn’t feel right.”

“We wouldn’t have them though. You’d have them.” Horus kisses his head. Carter, during the first decade, was shy about public affection. Now, he’s stopped caring. “If we’re having kids I want them to be ours, laws be damned. Your adorable little face with the eyes I give all my children.” Ma’at churns inside of him.

He laughs a little. “Yeah?” Carter looks up, and well, Carter’s eyes aren’t bad either. But Horus’ are the best, bestowed to all of his children. “So we’re going to spend eternity together and never have children?”

“You can get a pet,” Horus offers, “but no dogs or cats. A fish. How about a fish?” He pauses, “…Sadek might eat the fish. I’ll get you something, dear.” Carter rolls his eyes. The boy has enough responsibilities between the Nomes, Brooklyn, and their home life.

“A pet,” he drawls. Carter steals the bags back. “Whatever. It’s fine. I guess Anubis’ son will take my throne.” A smile creeps onto his face. Horus shakes his head disdainfully.

“That’s cheap.”

“But it’s true.”

Horus counters quickly, “At least it will still be Kane blood.” Carter jostles his keys, looking away from him and into the parking lot. Did they have anything else to do today? Probably. His memory is going, albeit slowly. Time for a _Duat_ nap.

Carter grips his hand, pulling him into the lot. “Well, I wanted to surrogate, not adopt, so it would be Kane blood.”

Horus hums, stopping beside the car. “Surrogate?” he echoes. “You will not lie with a woman, and certainly not enough times to sire a child with her.” The old, familiar anger broils in his stomach. The mortal knows not what he says, this he knows. It it unintentional ignorance, that Horus must blame himself in part for.

The mortal (only temporary) turns to face him. “Your age shines through. I wouldn’t lie with her. I’ll show you a video later, but I wouldn’t have to touch her at all. We’ll pick a surrogate, one you like, and do a closed adoption,” he says, words that make little sense to him when combined. Carter grips his hand again, squeezing tightly. Hope shines in those pretty eyes, just like they would on the face of a child. “Think about it, for me?” he asks.

He couldn’t tell him no, not outright. “I will. Maybe we’ll talk about it.”

iii.

Horus eagerly waits the hands of his watch to hit Carter's lunch break: 10:44. Shopping with Mother isn't as fun when he can't focus. Not that he usually can. She leads him through the same baby departments Carter took him to last month, same guiding hand on the same elbow and the expectation of him paying.  
“I couldn’t imagine having a baby today,” Mother says, poking one of the swinging chairs. “You’d be even more spoiled than you were.” Living in a basket in some marshes is not what Horus would consider spoiled. She’s talking about when he was incredibly young, a prince in a palace with both living parents, brief and rare that may have been. “There’s so much.”

He shrugs. "We’ll never have to deal with it.” 10:38. Six more minutes. Half an hour lunch break to just listen to Carter talk. It truly is the little things in life.

Mother hums, giving him a pointed look. “Never? Is Sadie the only one giving me grandchildren this century?”

“Carter and I cannot have children,” he sighs. “Something caught the kid on baby fever. I don’t get it.”

He leans against the cart, glancing at Mother. Her lips are pursed. Horus knows her well enough to see the minuscule crack in her composure as she drinks in the sight of modern babies. "Should we get the babe a modern crib, or something with more protection?”

“The girl said modern furniture, but toys she doesn’t care."

Her eyes twinkle with an old glee. "You and Anubis have always been obsessed with getting one over the other, and I think that extends to your Kanes. You’ve both put those two, or three, I should say, into a life of opulence, even if neither of you realize it.”

Horus continually bristles at being compared to the mutt. But Mother did raise him. She holds a fondness. “I don’t spoil him that badly.”

“I don’t believe they intentionally think like this, but now one Kane has something the other doesn’t.” She sighs. “I don’t know what half of this equipment is. I’m out of touch.”

He leans further down on the cart. “Carter’s too young. But he wants one, badly. He’s looked at new apartments."

Mother tuts; she’s a slim woman, but she pulls out a crib box with ease, looking over the front. "He’s not getting older, but he’s also not getting younger. And I know you want children. Babysit Sadie’s boy in a few months and see how that goes,” she says distractedly. She quietly mulls over the details on the box, glancing up at him from where she crouches on the floor. "Do you think she’d accept an enchanted crib? Modern but with protections."

Horus shrugs. ”I don’t think she would protest. Let the mutt handle it.” 10:42. He’s always been open with Mother. There’s little room to lie. "I want children with Carter, but any child he has won’t be ours. It’d be his and some surrogate’s,” he stresses. “I want _our_ baby.”

"With those damned eyes of yours,” she echoes. “You will love anything from that boy, and you know it." Still from her spot on the floor, Mother continues. “Neph is not your mother, but she raised and loved you like one, correct?"

“…yes,” he admits with a hair of reluctance. He doesn’t like where this is going.

He steadies the cart as she loads the crib in, wiping off her hands. "And Anubis is not my blood, but he’s certainly my son.” Which is painfully true as well. “You should know, Horus, that blood isn’t everything.”

“But blood does matter,” he enunciates for the queen-mother. “To risk so much to get Carter on the throne, only to disregard the legacy of Narmer-”

Isis is the only one (besides Carter) who can cut him off mid-sentence. “Have you listened to him at all? It will be his blood, and your child. This will continue to be a point of contention for you. Humor your prince. Babysit the pup, plan a hypothetical child, consider it. You know you’ll give in.” He glares at her, giving her the cart back. A minute until he gets to call him. “Here’s what I think,” Mother starts, a sly grin growing on her regal features, “you’ll see him holding the pup, and all your worries will melt away.”

Horus glares at her, though it’s gentle. “Be good, don’t pick up too much.” He wanders to an unrelated part of the store. No babies, no little shirts, no Mother with her prying words.

He dials Carter’s number by memory. It’s an easy pattern. The phone rings three times, and then: Little Kane’s voice getting further away, the telltale creak of Carter’s chair, followed by the scrape of plastic against plastic. “Aren’t you a punctual bird?” Carter says. “How are things with your mother?” he asks. What did Carter pack again? Leftovers, it’s always leftovers, but he finds himself curious.

Horus lets his free hand drift over the display before him, weird machines meant for...breastfeeding. Mother would faint. She’s a delicate woman. “They’re alright. Mother is herself unsurprisingly. Overbearing, domineering, obnoxiously right.”

He can tell the boy is smiling. “You have a type. The big bad Horus likes being pushed around,” he chimes softly. Carter’s lesser throne at the First Nome—he fears breaking the original, despite his instance that he cannot; it’s enchanted—is uncomfortable. Stiff, medium quality wood with a high back (if only for tradition), placed behind a deeply colored desk.

“Kid,” he begins, leading against the metal shelving. An edge digs into his ribs. “How much does surrogacy cost?” Carter chokes. He smiles. “You alright?”

“I should send you out with Isis more often.” He may spend his days with Mother, but never so mortal. “It’s comparable to the house you bought me,” he says.

He’s bought the boy a few houses, even if they always default to hotels on Carter’s travels. He likes the baths, he likes the beds. “Which one?” Horus asks. Carter placed a ceiling on what he could spend.

Carter shyly confesses, “The one in Vermont.”

“That’s not bad,” he answers. “That’s all inclusive?” Carter says yes, it is. It was barely a drop in his wealth.

“What would you name it? You’d both be Kanes.” Carter is back to fantasy over reality. He doesn’t take his breaks to talk mortal paperwork after slogging through magician ones.

Legally, on mortal paper, he is Horus Kane, nothing before, easily hand-waved away. “Meritites Kane for a girl.” _Beloved of her father_. “Thaneni for a boy, but I doubt you’ll have a boy. Ma’at speaks softly of a future queen, and given your prolonged reign-”

Carrying on tradition, Carter interrupts. “They’re nice names.” Caught off guard by the softness, the palpable wonder, his voice exudes, Horus forgets English for a moment. How to answer? How to speak? _They’re nice names_. Why is he so soft? Carter is turning him to mush with every passing day. Even their bond is soft; both are definitely present, bond cemented firmly between the two, but tapping on it, it bends, it bounces, it swells with the same amount of love present in the kid’s voice.

“As is yours,” he forces out, Kemetic smooth on his lips, “any name would be attractive with Kane put on it, case in point. Herupakhred Kane sounds nice, shockingly.” Now is not the time for Ma’at, for future heirs. Now, it is time for Meritites Kane, a small mortal baby reared by god and mortal king (plus a governess, undoubtedly, and her oddly sprawling family).

The minute it takes Carter to decipher his speech is enough for English to come back to mind. “Our pretty little daughter in yellow,” Carter says back, Kemetic like sand on his tongue. They do not _need_ to talk. They communicate fluidly enough without words. There would be plenty of quiet exchanges across their bond to imagine their little daughter, for Horus to indulge the slowly aging Carter.

But he needs to be firm. He must be the grounded one to Carter’s spiraling hope. Nipping that desire in the bud, a desire he himself possessed, was rude, yes. But his adoring mortal is a fantastical creature, rational yet floundering in fantasy. The mortal king, the magician king, without queen, without heir.

...there was a chance for Horus to be rational too. Carter needs an heir, but he needs Horus too. Horus comes back to the store, back to English, back to the melodic sound of Isis’ voice carrying over the displays. “We’ll speak later, princeling, in the comfort of home. Deal?”

“Sure,” that soft, edible tone. “I love you, birdie,” comes next. His voice is a bit firmer, but dripping with affection.

Horus hums, pushing a piece of dust through a hole on the shelf. “Did you eat?” He knew he didn’t, more scraping of plastic through the line. “I’ll let you go, princeling. I love you as well.”

Mother wears her all knowing smile.

(god king and mortal king find themselves wrapped up in one another, in bed, as they always are. “i know you don’t want to humor me. your part of the bond is wide open,”  mortal king says softly, secured under his arm from any insecurities that could plague him, but it seemed not all. horus sighs, kissing his temple: “i will humor you if it makes you happy; you know this.” his fingers sweep across his chest, outlining each muscle. carter is a wonder upon this earth: “it will only hurt when we do not have her.”)

iv.

“Thanks for coming, birdbrain.”

“It’s the least I can do, Baby Kane.” It’s his own boredom. Her hand sits neatly in his elbow, slow but very Sadie-like in her late term pregnancy. Willing, or perhaps accidentally, he keeps a mental countdown for her supposed due date, down to the second. Another week, three days, seven hours, two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. “What are you in for?”

She sits down heavily in her chair. Her boyfriends, husbands?, are busy today with Carter (some demon/artifact retrieval), and Mother…well, Mother doesn’t like modern doctors. Horus has ample free time. “Ultrasound. Has Carter showed you the pictures?” Horus shakes his head no. The Baby Kane, for all intents and purposes, beams, digging her phone out.

A mother. The Baby Kane is a mother now. “I’m getting old,” Horus blurts out as she scrolls through her device. “You’re having a baby.”

“Just now tuning in?” Sadie Kane is well aware how often he checks out—multiple bodies gets confusing—but that’s not what this is. The dawn of the realization.

“You’re a mother,” he says. “Baby Kane’s having a baby.”

Sadie pauses in her scroll. Her blue eyes look at him in more than just a glance. “I worry for you.” It’s soft. It’s Mother like. Motherly. The glow is back, partly Isis’ magic, partly pregnancy (oils, he recalls; the skin produces more oils, mother said, hathor said, stomachs round).

He smiles, despite the cold shock itching at these mortal veins. “You don’t need to. Get the picture out, Baby Kane, before my interest wanes.” Horus needs to keep better tabs on this body, certainly if Carter wants to have a baby. Raising mortal babes in the Duat only exposes them to more magic, that alters their growth.

She’s well into her role, showing him blurry picture after blurry picture of a baby amongst gelatinous goo. It’s the quality of 3D ultrasounds, she preens, look at his nose!

Sadie Kane, soon to no longer be the Baby Kane, carries on. The dumb question of ‘ _How did this happen?_ ’ rattles around his brain. The girl had unprotected sex with one of her husbands. And while he knows gods cannot procreate with mortals, not their variety anyway, he broaches the question as the shining, exultant baby Kane takes pause for breath. “It is the mortal’s, correct?”

Her rheumy eyes find his face again. The earlier fondness and concern is gone. “Yes, it is. Anubis he—he made sure of it. Us Kanes are odd creatures.” Her head droops on his shoulder, breaths slow. Lilac streaks her caramel hair. “I worry for him,” she admits. “All I ask for is his safety, Horus. Isis promised me she’d grant it.”

They sit like that in silence until Saide is called back. He helps her up, steadying her as she walks, her hand braced on her own back. Sadie’s usual wit begins to shine through as she banters with the nurse. The room is pre-emptively dark, a hulking mass of machinery in the corner followed by multiple screens. The female nurse—some things never change—politely looks away as Sadie, hefty as the ghastly machine, settles back in the plush chair. Her hand is loose in his.

The nurse—Ada, he comes to learn, has been Sadie’s...technician throughout her whole pregnancy—rolls him in a stool to sit on. Sadie introduces him as her brother-in-law, shamelessly; he can see the gears turn in Ada’s head as to where he fits in, but she says nothing verbally. There is no trace of magic, no hints of danger. A mortal hospital.

“Have you heard from my parents at all?” Sadie asks. Her eyes flirt between him and the screen. The nurse applies some gel to her round, stretch stomach. The girl’s skin is taut, lighter than Carter but darker than Ada. The Kane parents breed well, two classically beautiful children.

He shakes his head. The stool is fun, back, forth, back, forth, but it causes him to stoop some, hand held more firmly as his head bends to brush and meet her flyaways. “They don’t have cell service. Mother may have spoke to them, but she’s a woman of quiet comings.” Sadie snorts.

Today, the test is a biophysical, whatever that means. Sadie explains it to him softly, gaze transfixed on the screen. The LED shines across her face, melting with the pregnancy glow. The fingers not in his, which have grown sweaty, drums on the topmost dome of her belly, even as the wand probes her hard. All of their words gloss over him; he holds her hand a little tighter, having forgotten the feel of feminine fingers in his hand.

Sadie tugs on his hand a few times. Childish glee—no, the excitement of motherhood. Horus has been around mothers all his lives. The babe is further along than the pictures led him to believe. It looks human, and it has Sadie’s forehead. Sadie speaks softly to it, crooning. He misses her wit as he watches a new baby Kane being born before him.

(the mortal king will never have that glee; the god king robbed him of it.)

Ada’s brow furrows. He glances at her. He cannot read the screen, but the idea is the same. The nurse is unsatisfied. “Wait right here, Sadie,” she says. She hands the girl a rag to wipe the goo off of her stomach. Ada clacks at the machine, then disappears, stiff blue clothing gone from sight.

“Something’s wrong,” Sadie Kane immediately rationalizes. She has always been more calm than her brother. Never has he seen nor heard of her thrown in the midst of panic. She, like him, was more volatile, but with words and _Ha-di_ over swords and drink. But he knows the signs of Kane panic, as her blue eyes squint at the screen in her attempts to discern anything amongst the static. Words litter the side, and her gaze is there.

Horus holds her hand a little tighter. “I’m sure everything is fine, Sadie.”

Everything is, in fact, not fine. Ada returns with one of those complacent smiles. The next few hours is a blur, as Sadie gets settled into the hospital. He doesn’t listen, and she know he doesn’t. He spends the better part of his time scratching at Carter, giving what he can: _Something’s wrong with your sister._

Silence.

He blinks back to himself. Sadie’s face is amused, sitting in a new bed. “I’m having the baby tonight,” she says. “Do you care for the details?”

“Why?” he asks. He should get Mother, at least. She may despise modern hospitals, but Sadie is her daughter, as much as Anubis is. There are dangers, there are demons, there are gods better suited for this position than him. Kings are not always enough.

She’s already flicked the television on, drawing hieroglyphs on her stomach that dissipate into the air. “He’s stopped growing. They’re bringing him out so he can...catch up out here. Perfectly normal, perfectly fine.” Machines beep with dotted lights, lines run into the Little Kane’s skin. “There’s not going to be anything weird, is there?”

“Outside of the normal weird of childbirth?” Horus kisses her cheek. The mattress is softer than he thought it would be. “Demons, possibly, but this is a woman’s world. I’m going to get someone more qualified. Is that alright? Then I’ll track down our idiot husbands.”

Sadie contemplates his words with visible scrutiny. “Please come back. You can find the idiots here.”

“It’s rare both of you beg for me in the same day.” She slaps him for that. He deserves it. “Wouldn’t you rather have your husbands? I know I would.”

“I’d rather not do this alone,” she says. “Will you really deny me that?”

Horus smiles. “It is not my business of denying Kanes.” He carries on his plying affection, comfortably close to the youngest Kane. “Let me grab Mother. She’s a jack of all trades for this area.”

This weird kind of intimacy with Little Kane happens on occasion. They had their decade of playful flirting. “Be quick. Don’t miss your nephew.” The Kane-Ennead family is a weird mixture. God and mortal should not interact so freely, but it’s all overlooked. Carter is his host, and Sadie is technically with the mutt’s host, not him.

Horus goes, and Mother promises to be there within an hour. She has to gather herself, and bang obnoxiously at Ruby’s mind/scribe. The Kane parents are slated to arrive back Sunday night, a few days before Sadie’s actual due date. He checks in first with the Baby Kane, then settles in the waiting room. He has his own Kane to get in contact with.

 _Princeling_ , Horus says. _Your sister’s baby is coming._ Where did the boy head? He should really keep better track of this. He calls his phone. One dead call, two dead calls. He doesn’t have the other mortal’s number. _Princeling,_ he says again. He wants to give Sadie her personal time, wandering his way to the cafeteria. Eating is like sleep: not needed, but a way to past the time. The food isn’t bad, pasta with sauce. English needs to come better.

**From: Sadie K..**

**_it’s showtime #### (4:34)_ **

**_your mother is AWOL (4:34)_ **

**_you’ve been gone for 2 hour, btw (4:34)_ **

His thigh buzzes with each text. Sadie textes fast and frequently. None from his Kane. Horus tries his luck with texting.

**To: C**

**_Your sister is having her baby, little prince you should show up_ **

Horus heads back to Sadie’s room. He needs buzzed into the ward—children are something worth protecting—and has to sign in. A white sticker with the time (4:37PM) and his name (Horus Kane) gets stuck to his breast. “Baby Kane,” Horus starts, creaking the door open to her room. “We’re on our own.”

Her lilac streak of hair has shriveled with sweat. “I’m killing all of them. Get over here.”

“Mother isn’t good with mortal time,” he attempts to placate. “If I were not attached to the sun, I doubt I would have picked up on it by now.” The chair up here is much nicer, practically a recliner. He wheels it beside her, hand back in hers. “How’re you feeling?” This he remembers. Conception and labor. He remembers Hathor like this, though not quite the same position.

Sadie cackles. “I’m about to call the nurse to really get this going. I don’t ever want to do this again.” Her face contorts in pain, squeezing his hand like a vice. “Hell, I might kill Walt anyway.”

He tuts, pushing her hair free from her face. Her skin is feverish, and he hopes his cool hand provides the poor thing some relief. “We’re pigs, aren’t we? My wife told me the same thing.” Speaking to Sadie about Hathor is easy.

She leans into his hand; perhaps it provides refuge. “You’ve done this before, you bastard.”

“I’ve been present for a few,” he admits.

Ada returns with a doctor in tow. Seeing a man for this is odd, but times change. It’s for the best Mother isn’t present. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” and the doctor goes through the hassle of introducing himself. “I’m her brother-in-law,” Horus relents after a brief handshake.

“Alright,” the doctor says, washing his hands, “let’s deliver this baby.”

It doesn’t take long. Sadie rolls on her side, as whiny Kanes do, hand grasped painfully in his. He soothes her as he can, speaking to her softly in Kemetic; she replies whenever her snark rears. He’s with her while she gives birth. Not her brother, her mother, father, his mother, her husbands. Him.

The cry comes, and it comes strong. Sadie presses her face into the sheets, a rough, “Clean him first.” He kisses her forehead, sparing a glance to the child. His father’s complexion, Sadie’s caramel hair in a light dusting upon his skull, shriveled and screaming. Small, as magical babies are.

Dominic Parennefer Kane is born.

v.

Sadie’s husbands head home to prepare the baby room. Mother apologizes profusely for being late, but leaves again to get the Kane parents. It’s well into morning when everything settles. He and Carter opt to stay with Sadie. They’re transferred to another room as the sun rises. Carter reeks of desert, death, and demons, but the joy that lights in his hazel eyes make his heart soar.

The baby is wheeled to the nursery when Sadie goes to take her shower. Horus knows they’re alone—with Sadie and baby gone, no one of interest is in the room—so he convinces the prince to sit on his lap, in the weird recliner that someone is doomed to sleep in.

“Have you held him?” Carter asks.

“No. I’ve no interest in it.” Horus tilts Carter’s chin up, holding him there with his gaze. “You’re in trouble.”

Carter huffs. “I know. I didn’t answer you, neither mentally or with my phone. That’s my one rule. Failure to follow and I’m grounded,” he perfectly recites. Kissing his cheek, “Is he cute?”

Horus blinks. That was quick. “When you don’t answer, I assume the worse. And he’s alright. You’re the cutest Kane to date.”

 Shifting softly on his lap, the damnable television already on, Carter kisses his other cheek now. “You would know if I died. We’re connected. You should get a move on with making me immortal, to alleviate one of your fears. But guess what? We’re uncles now. I gave Walt our house key, to get the presents for Dominic. He’s giving it back.” Horus barely gave a key to the Little Kane.

The princeling sighs, resting his head on his shoulder. He’s tired. He has to be. “I know _you_ don’t really care, but I’ve never been one. My sister had a baby,” Carter says. Horus does have a niece and sister in law, but like all good women, they’re missing. If they’ll ever return, or awaken, is debatable.

He brushes his hand over his hip, holding him a little snugly. “You need to be careful. If you died before I could immortalize you, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Something horrible, definitely. I never want to see you as a spirit.”

“You’re hung up on this, aren’t you?” Kissed again to silence him. Carter twists, straddling his lap. The chair needs a bit more room to make this work, but it’s alright. Carter is slim. Carter is built for his lap. Carter is meant for him. “I’m okay, I’ll stay alive. Don’t worry, birdie. You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he promises, pressing their mouths together.

That’s good too. He can forget everything for a second, or how ever long Carter feels like holding his breath. It’s been a while, anyway, since they kissed prolonged. He and Carer haven’t had proper alone time for a surprising break.

Horus misses him. What a surprise. He’ll bring him home for a week.

The kiss ends, Carter nuzzling his shoulder. “I’ll answer you next time, best I can. That’s all I can promise, birdie. But I have a nephew. Can we focus on that for now?”

(the mortal king knows him so well. his voice is soft, complacent, yet promising. the god king can only nod mutely, overpowered by the mortal’s words and looks.)

With a nod, Horus agrees. Carter takes a brief nap on his shoulder; Horus draws patterns on his back. His Kane.

Sadie eventually returns, Dominic in tow. The nurse takes in the sights, but make no comments. Sadie has to recite the babe’s date of birth before the nurse leaves. Her lilac streak is back to its original brilliance. “Really?” she says. “Get him up. He’s been going on for months about the baby.” She does throw something at the boy, her hairbrush it seems, smacking him in the back of the head.

The boy stirs. “Give me a minute.” Horus deposits him on the bed with little grace. Carter whines, kicking him. He must wake up enough, realizing where they are. He sits up quickly, looking around. “You had a baby,” he remembers. She shakes her head, picking up the baby with a tenderness he doesn’t expect from her.

She kicks him out of the chair. All three Kane men (oh, that feels weird) are on the bed now. Sadie passes the baby to Carter, a smooth exchange that ends with Carter’s sparkling hazel lighting up like the dawn sky. Sadie, as she sits and takes the liberty of wrapping Horus’ jacket around herself, has an equally brilliant smile.

Mother is right. It’s annoying. Dominic Parennefer Kane looks at home in Carter’s arms, cheek full as the moon, tilting into the mortal’s finger. He has it down: head support, around the body, supporting the butt. He cooes, he smiles, even as the babe lays there with its eyes scrunched shut. He crosses his legs to rest his arms on, leaning against the god for support. “Look at you,” he says softly.

Carter looks good with a baby. Carter looks magnificent with a baby.

Horus feels his heart start to stir.

vi. aftermath

The baby’s first birthday comes with note. He’s grown well, he’s grown slow, but magic will do that. Ma’at will do that. The baby is powerful from the first month he learned to babble.

Hosted at Brooklyn House for the extended family, Horus finds himself in reluctance attendance. “Not only does he not like me-”

“-he’s a baby-”

“-we see him every other week. Must I really?” Horus stressed. Carter stood on his tiptoes, kissed the shell of his ear, and promised a few things that made him cave.

Brooklyn House rings with the laughter of children, both the younger initiates and the children of Carter’s contemporaries. Horus stays on the roof with Freak, legs crossed and staring up at the sun. A few people wander up (or are tossed up by Philip’s playful tail), but they leave at the sight of god and beast. He’s not here to socialize, only to please Carter. He’ll go down in a few hours to eat, then head back to feed Freak. Time will go like that.

The baby is...growing on him. Tall and pudgy, tottering around their apartment into Carter’s excited arms, it certainly opens his mind up to it.

Horus nudges Freak with his foot. “Should we?” he asks.

 _Freeee!_ he says eloquently. Freak is certainly not the smartest griffin he’s talked with.

“Fair point.” Back to...China next week. Magicians there are in small numbers, but Carter has his duties. “We are busy people.”

_Freeeaa._

Horus inches closer, running his hand through the griffin’s feathers. “But he’s cute with them, he’s good with them, and he wants one,” he rationalizes. “We have the finances and the support.” Freak gives his characteristic response, rolling on his back. He crushes the god’s foot beneath his mass, but it’s all fine.

Every time he sees Carter with the baby in his arms, his heart starts. His blood flows like it should. Hell, there’s been a few instances that after the baby leaves, he bends Carter into his hands and takes him, borderline frenzied by the sight of Carter with child.

It’s a good image. It speaks to him, king and father.

Resting his head on Freak’s stomach, second hand now involved in scratching his fur, Horus sighs. “I’m giving him one. This year has been rough for all the wrong reasons.”

(mortal king asleep on the couch, seven month old babe sandwiched between him and a pillow, away from the edge; he volunteered dual kings to babysit to give the vizier and the mortal king’s lieutenant a night off. the couch would make him a brat, so god king gently scooped both of them up. tired eyes cradling the baby, adoringly looking at him, far too much for a fragile heart.)

_FREEEEEEAAAAAAAK!!_

Horus laughs loudly. “We’ll bring her to see you. Thank you for your help, old boy.” Freak was no help, nothing more than a wall to talk to, but Horus gifts him a frozen turkey regardless, wiping his hands off on his fur. The creature may be able to eat it, wrapper and all, but he wouldn’t let him.

Taking the civilized manner of going down (Carter scolds him for jumping onto the breakfast balcony), he treks the two flights of stairs to the main level. Thoth’s statue looms over the guests, but a party hat hangs off of his beak, ribbon streaming over his arms.

Just like Ra and basketball.

He finds Sadie first by the yelling baby. He eases his way through the crowd. “Where’s Carter?”

“Kitchen,” she supplies. “Tell birdbrain hi, Dom,” she says to the baby, comfortably seated in his high chair, icing smeared on his cheek. Quite Freak-like, the baby squeals _Birrrrr_! until his mother dissolves in laughter.

He smiles at the baby, then leaves. Some magicians he recognizes, most he doesn’t. A few nod at him politely, but he disregards them. Horus steps into the much quieter kitchen. Some mill around with drinks, but his prized possession is tucked away in the pantry.

Good. He can be open with Carter in private.

Grabbing a cup, he passes by them all, stepping into the pantry. Carter Kane is in his natural position of on his tiptoes, sorting through boxes of cereal. Brooklyn House is a mess. Softly shutting the door behind him to not tip the mortal off, he closes the distances, wrapping his arms around Carter. “You said it cost about a house?” he asks, chin hooked on his shoulder.

Carter stiffens. “Come again?”

“The surrogacy. About a cheap house, right?”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Carter says tautly. Horus brushes his lips across his cheek.

He drags the boy down to be flat footed, cup pressed against his stomach. “We’ll look at surrogates, and in the high chance I find a woman I like, we’ll go through with it, alright?” A woman who would carry a child for nine months, then agree to a closed adoption. It’s difficult for Horus to envision that easily, but money is money.

“Really?” he says, shocked. “Like that? You’re mind has changed like-” a snap of his fingers.

Horus hums. “Seeing you with Sadie’s boy has opened my eyes,” he admits. “We’re having a baby,” he says, he sighs, to remind of the situation. “You still want one, don’t you?”

He nods. “Yes, yes, of course. Horus-” he’s a strong little thing, turning around in his embrace. His cup finds a home on the slight curve of his back, and he gets another one of those damn, stomach twisting kisses. Horus hikes the boy back up, crowding him against the shelving.

Carter fumbles to hold his hand like the spoiled, lovable brat he is. He squeezes their fingers together. The boy is great. The boy is going to be a father. Carter will have an heir, Carter can retire comfortably without the dog’s seed influencing it.

Horus kisses him again; a box falls from where Carter bumps into it. He’s made happy, visibly so, just by this. With another minute, Carter finally breaks away. His face is hot, flushed, but his eyes are like that night in the hospital, brimming pools of hope. “I _love_ you, my gods-”

Massaging his back, he starts a trail of kisses on his temple. “I love you too, little prince. We have to be somewhat quick about it. I don’t want to hold off on your immortality anymore.”

“That’s fine by me. Our apartment nearby is three bed, so that saves some hassle, huh? And you have that paid off for years,” Carter says. He squirms fondly. “You and me. A baby.”

God and mortal. God and immortal. Horus ends up in the boy’s hair. Hopefully, the baby takes after him more than the mother. Curls, hazel eyes, playful sarcasm, the spoiled tone Horus’ children all possess. Horus’ child. “Don’t you always get what you want?”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. surrogacy. mpreg bad when they're all cis  
> 2\. yes, sadie has husbands. stop shafting walt, people  
> 3\. the long discussed corus child will be born by summer, people. if not, lynch me.


End file.
